Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight.

`Chapter Seven: Joker

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I'm in heaven.

Sadly, it's not quite the heaven I'd like—the best type of heaven is the one you make with your own hands—but close enough.

"Hmm…pretty chic, Batsy." I run a finger over one of the many buttons. I don't press it—who knows what would blow up. I like explosions to be…specific. "Betcha you've caused many a racecar driver to go green, eh?"

"Sit still," Batsy orders, and I notice that I've been fidgeting. "I have to keep my eyes on the road. I don't have the patience to deal with you right now."

"Such a…romantic," I say sweetly. "Y'know, I'm surprised you don't have an extra seat in here. Like riding alone?"

I'm squished against his side in the surprisingly-tiny compartment, and (un?)fortunately, there's only one seatbelt. Like good children, we have to share.

He doesn't reply.

I look out the window and see we're causing a bit of a…ruckus. Cars are slowing down, people are pointing and taking out their cell phones.

"You wanted to know the punchline, right?" I ask, folding my hands demurely on my lap, trying to keep a straight face. "How about I give you 50%?"

Batsy doesn't reply. I continue anyway.

"It's early afternoon, Batman." I bite my lip to keep from laughing. "You're off schedule."

It hits him then, and that's when I let myself go. I laugh so hard my ribs hurt as we tear through the city of Gotham, a paparazzi following in our wake.

"Does that mean the poisoned thugs are fake?" Batman looks like he would love to throttle me right about now. Tempting offer, but…

"Oh, no, they're real," I assure him, pouting as our paparazzi run out of motivation. "Looks like the citizens of Gotham are still lazy, lifeless lumps of flesh. Can't even keep up with you."

"I know the back-alleys of this city better than you, Joker." Batsy turns a corner, and now I know we're in no-man's-land.

I don't reply. We're almost there. I'm already starting to get…psyched about the fun we'll be having. Unless, of course, the stupid fishies up in the clock tower decide to die on us. How stupid would that be?

We stop, and the Tumbler slowly opens up, letting us out. Batsy fires his grappling hook and grabs me under the arm, and up, up we go…

I whoop with glee as we quickly scale the clock tower, Gotham City growing more sprawling as we go. The air seems to vanish from my lungs as we gain speed, and I can't help but feel…alive.

Is this how Batsy feels? I wonder, as we reach the top of the tower.

Batsy lands solidly on the edge of the tower, walking quickly before letting go of my arm. It's almost as if I'm…a concern for him. It's not like I'm going to push him off the tower. Or that he has to worry about my safety.

Well, I do like pushing him, just…not literally when it comes to Batsy.

The fishies are waiting, trussed up and already turning pale at both the sight of us and the poison running through their veins .

Batman goes to them, and I calmly watch as the show unfolds. He's hurrying, but not too much—he's surveying them, checking for certain effects from the poisoning, trying to figure out who of the lot is "innocent". He's certainly having a hard time, that's for sure. Just what I was going for.

"You used Methanol, didn't you?" he asks from over his shoulder, pulling out a series of small vials from his belt.

"Oooh, good call," I reply, moving closer. "Nothing like moonshine to get the job done. So, who're you gonna give those vials to?"

"All of them." He tips the vial into the nearest fish's mouth, making him drink every last drop. He moves on to the next one. And the next.

"Y'know," I say slowly, clearing my throat for emphasis, "there's a chance that you're…too late. Either way, these guys will die. Or their brains and livers will be history."

"At least I tried to help them."

"So…you're willing to help the robbers? The gangbangers? The guys who beat their wives for the hell of it?" I press on, now close enough to watch the fishies stare at Batman with pathetic hope.

"I'm making sure they're alive to be put on trial."

I chuckle. "Which ones?"

Batsy doesn't even slow down. Soon, the fishies have all had their dose of Bat-Meds, and he can get to work.

"This one is innocent." He points to a lanky, piercing-covered punk who looks relieved to see Gotham's Dark Knight.

I don't confirm or deny Batsy's decision. I just watch as he moves to the next fish in line.

"This one is guilty. I've seen him in the news. He shot his wife after—"

"After a lousy day at work," I finish, smiling at the chubby man in question. "What's it like, being, ah, famous around the workplace?"

Batsy glares at me, and I whistle innocently.

"Mind if I help?" I ask, crouching down beside one of the fish. "This guy, he's got one hell of a right-cross. His girlfriend can attest to that."

Batsy looks at the fish, then back at me.

"He's innocent."

"Have it your way." I sigh and point out another fish. "I found that guy at the bank. He wanted a loan for a car, I think. Too bad he met me."

"He's guilty."

"How d'you know?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Gordon told me about him."

I grin. "Ah-ta-ta-ta, no blinking. Now I know you aren't telling the truuuth."

The fake-trial continues, Batsy softly proclaiming "innocent" and "guilty", as though his opinion is the be-all, end-all.

Every time I say "Oh, this guy's a murderer" or "this guy's innocent", Batsy always claims the opposite. It's an easy trick, but a good one. He's caught on to me.

A little.

I try mixing things up a little, but it doesn't seem to matter. Oooh, I forgot how frustrating this man can be…

Once the fish are all sorted into neat little clumps, Batsy uses the rope to tie them all up again. Five criminals, five pedestrians—just peachy.

"The cops will be coming soon," Batsy says, turning on his heel. "Let's go."

"Fine by me." I latch onto his arm and down, down we go, back to the Tumbler and into rush hour.

I still haven't said the punch line yet.